Santa Claus reads, “THE STENCH OF CHRISTMAS” and 2 More Scary Stories for Kids! #SpookySanta
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Tales of shadow people, sleep paralysis, and demons who stalk their victims in that place between dreams and reality. I'll share true tales of prophetic dreams, some joyful, some not. Sleepwalking incidents that are both amusing and disturbing. I'll also share real stories of night terrors so horrifying that sleep

became something to fear and dread for those victimized by the night. You might not want to sleep after joining our next live stream. It's Saturday, December 28th at 5 p.m. Pacific, 6 p.m. Mountain, 7 p.m. Central, 8 p.m. Eastern. On the lighter side, I'll also be responding to comments and questions live on the air and doing a giveaway of some Weird Darkness merch.

Prepare yourself for our next live scream for chilling tales of what some people must endure in an attempt to get some sleep. Find the details on the live screen page at weirddarkness.com.

Well, hello there. You'd better watch out. You'd better not cry. You'd better not pout because...

I'm here with some spooky stories. Hello, children. It's Santa. And welcome to another episode of the Spooky Santa Podcast. I have new scary stories to share with you. So be sure you have your parents' permission before you begin to listen. And I'll know if you ask them or not.

because I can see you when you're sleeping and I know when you're awake. Coming up in this episode, The Stench of Christmas by Lee Story. It's one of my personal favorites. I'll also share a scary story from Ireland. It's called Mary Cole Hayne and the Dead Man. Plus, I have an extra special story that was emailed to me from one of my children on the good list.

Anikus in Wisconsin. He's six years old and he sent us a very scary story. Now, bolt your doors, lock your windows, turn off your lights, and come with Spooky Santa for another holiday chiller. Ho, ho, ho, ho, ho, ho. Ho, ho, ho, ho, ho, ho.

They say it's the smell that hits you first. A stench that crawls into your nostrils, slithers down your throat, and tries to cut off your air.

But you fight. Fight to breathe. Struggle for a nanogram of oxygen. To drag it into your lungs and live. When the air catches you in your belly and your lungs swell again, what's coming next will make you vomit with revulsion. Make you wish you hadn't taken another breath. What's coming next is always expected in my family on Christmas Eve.

While other smiling families gather around the Christmas tree, enjoying gifts and sumptuous meals, my loved ones quake and wait in the shadows, not touched by happiness. While other families talk about the miracles of Christmas, I'm wishing for a miracle of my own. For years, for decades, for two centuries, in fact, my family has lived here.

beside the bay and near the forest. The ocean water here isn't brilliant blue, but brown and muddy. We live at the edge of the Minas Basin in a three-story house with rooms upon rooms upon rooms. Too many rooms. Too much money. That's what got us into trouble in the first place.

It was my foremother who landed on these wild shores. She was only 14 years old and she had been sent here from Scotland by her poor parents who hoped she would find work. My grandmother arrived with nothing, except for a single piece of amber, a piece of orange hardened sap that fit into the palm of her soft young hands.

Her hands didn't stay smooth for long though. Hard work chafed them, chapped them, cracked them, and marked them for a life forever of labor. She toiled day in and day out for over a year as a servant for an old woman. An old woman who demanded everything out of my several times great grandmother. According to her mistress, my ancestor couldn't do anything right and did everything wrong.

That's why she turned to the Amber, a tool only to be used when nothing else worked. The Amber was a piece of magic from the old world, used in the new world. It had been pressed into my great-great-great-grandmother's palm before she'd boarded the ship for Nova Scotia. It was the only reminder of the family she'd left behind.

There'd been tales about the Amber, whispers about its powers, stories that had been passed from generation to generation. It was said the Amber could do wonderful things and undo terrible things. It could make things good, make things easier, make you rich and your enemies poor.

But the use of the amber came with a price: an overwhelming stink that tightened around the neck like a hangman's noose. The feeble of the stench was all that was left clinging to the amber just before my grandmother planted it in the damp, dark ground.

One wintery day, when the snow fell in wet clumps on the bare trees and the tide was on its long journey out to sea, she put the amber in the earth near the old woman's house and waited. Then the pine needles covering the earth shriveled as a burnt orange mist quivered up from the dirt where the amber was hidden. A hole yawned open and out of it came a stench that slid languidly into her mouth and nose.

Her bony fingers went to her throat and she threw her head back, gagging for oxygen. Almost too late, she caught her breath, dropping to her knees in relief. She bowed her head, her red hair fanning out over her faded blue skirt like flames. And then it happened. Hideous in form, it rushed out of the smelly fog and stood several steps away from her. It was tall as any of the birches surrounding my grandmother.

The form had green eyes squished into a mustard-colored face. The creature didn't have a nose, not that my grandmother could see anyway, but it did have a mouth of bright red pouty lips. Behind the squishy plump cherry lips were rows upon rows of teeth, big teeth, teeth that were as white as new snow and as pointed as the tip of a knife.

She saw them, even though she sat several meters away. "This is my first time to this side of the world," the creature said, pushing the words through his teeth. Grandma knew by the male voice that the "it" was a "he." She was surprised by the softness of his voice. The voice of a preacher? It didn't fit with the terrible viciousness of his body or the odor that pushed itself against her senses. "Why am I here?" it asked.

"I, I," stammered my grandma, "I heard you could help me." "Yes," the stench answered, "tell me what you need me to do."

"I'm tired of being cold and hungry," she said. "I'm tired of being poor and lonely. I'm tired of living in this desperate situation. I want to be rich. I want to have silks the color of the sky instead of mossy, dull green woolens. I want to be able to eat a marbled steak instead of mushy peas for my supper."

"I want a servant to gather wood for my fire. I don't want to play the servant any longer." "Ahh," the creature said, "you want all that without having to work for it. Without having the money, work brings you. You want the best without the worst." "I want the best money can buy," she said. "There are many things money can't buy," purred the stench.

"Money would give me everything and anything," said my grandmother, emboldened by the thought of never having to stand churning butter for hours or chopping wood for days. "If that's how you see it, then here are my terms," said the creature. "Every year, at this time, I'll come collect my fee." "How much do I owe?" she asked. "Don't worry, it's not money I seek. It's something you have already."

My grandmother, thinking the stench must be referring to the semi-precious talisman that brought him there, nodded her head before speaking. "Oh, yes, yes," she agreed. "You can have the amber." That's when the stench stepped closer, much closer to my grandmother. That's when she saw him closer, much closer. There were bits and pieces of moldy meat hanging off of him.

Fleshy things that shivered in the wind. Rotten flakes that clung to his hands and neck and swatches of muscle blistering on his putrid face. His form was so rancid it vibrated with stink. A squeak escaped my grandmother's lips, and she turned her face toward the water, toward the brine that was fleeing the basin. She wondered if the creature smelled her fear. The stench laughed, and my grandmother knew he did.

"I'm hungry," he said with a merry lilt to his voice. "You will feed me. With your skin. Skin is a never-ending meal for me. Humans have many layers of skin and it always grows back. From you, I need a strip. Fifteen centimeters a year. Enough to keep me satiated, but not enough to kill you."

"When your first child turns 14, he or she will make your payment until they have a child to take their place. The cycle will continue for their descendants too, every year for 200 years. Your children and their children will pay for your comforts now." My grandmother looked down at her lap and smoothed her coarse gray linen apron with her hands.

Her nails were chipped and ragged. Her knuckles were swollen to the size of a man's. These were hands that would be enslaved to work every day, every hour, and every minute she lived. "I agree to your terms," she said. So softly it was almost lost over the rush of the tidal bore, waves that force all the water back into the bay.

Then her screams could be heard from the beach, through the woods and down to the wharf where Mr. Schofield was bringing in his nets. That was Christmas Eve, almost two centuries ago. I turned 14 in March of this year. It was a day I dreaded. But today, December 24th, is the day that terrifies me. I know what's coming. I know what happens. I've heard the stories. I've seen the scars.

I've heard the screams. My ancestors have been keeping score. Every Christmas Eve, the stench arrives to harvest our flesh. Tonight marks 200 years. Will the stench make an appearance among the ringing of the church bells? Have we settled my foolish grandmother's debt? The best present ever would be if I'm the first one in generations to be spared.

I hold a little fleck of hope, born out of Christmas cheer that the stench has had enough. But I don't know. I walk down the path and through the woods to a clearing near the water. That's where the amber is still buried. That's where a promise was made. That is where I wait for the stench to find me. They're right, you know. It's the smell that hits you first. Ho ho ho ho ho ho ho!

Email, we get email, we get your email every day. Here's your mail today. This next story is from one of the boys and girls on my good list. Atticus, he's six years old and he lives in Wisconsin in the United States. And he emailed me his scary story at letters at spooky santa dot com. Here's his scary story.

♪♪

I was swimming at night to see if I could find a sea creature. And I did find one that night. I saw it like a squid thing while snorkeling. But when I looked closer, it wasn't just a squid. It had the head of a hammerhead shark, eyes like a spider, and arms like an octopus. The legs were eels. And when I first saw its legs up close, one eel was holding a brain and the other was holding a heart.

There was blood all over in the water. When I looked down there again, I saw the body of an unlucky diver. I tried to see what it would do if I got closer to it, but it tried to kill me. I was terrified and I swam away.

I got to my house where luckily I had a harpoon and I tried to use it, but it wasn't very useful. It kept chasing me and now it was more dangerous because it had my harpoon and it was trying to kill me with it. Then I got away finally and I didn't see it again except for one last time.

And it turns out it has night vision because it saw me very clearly in the dark. It bit me on the leg and as the venom entered me, I felt my leg turning into an eel. And soon I became the same creature.

Ooh, that is a scary one, Atticus. Ooh, you have a very dark mind, you do. But you are on my good list. Hey, if you would like to write a scary story for me to read, you can email it to me at letters at spooky santa dot com. I'll read your story in an upcoming episode. That's letters at spooky santa dot com. Your parents can help you with that if you need them to.

This one is called "Mary Culhane and the Dead Man." It's a scary story about a young girl in Ireland who is haunted by a corpse. It's based on an old Irish folktale called "The Blood Drawing Ghost." This story is also known as "Mary Culhane and the Dead Man." Here's the story: Years ago in Ireland, there was a young girl named Mary Culhane.

Her family was very poor, and they lived in a whitewashed cottage down a country lane. She had six younger brothers and sisters and spent a lot of her time taking care of them. Her father worked as a gravedigger in the local cemetery next to the Catholic Church. It was the only job he could get because he had been born with a bad leg.

One day, when her father came home, he sat down and sighed. He was extremely tired after working all day. "I can't believe it," he said. "I left my blackthorn walking stick back at the graveyard. If I don't go back for it, someone will steal it. It was the last thing my poor, departed father gave me before he died. I can barely walk without it."

Mary Culhane was always a helpful girl, always on my good list, and she knew how tired her father was. So, she fetched her shawl and said, "I'll go get it for you, Daddy!" And she ran out the door before anyone could stop her. At the time, many people in Ireland were superstitious and nobody dared to go into a cemetery after dark.

By the time Mary reached the gates of the graveyard, the moon was out and the wind was whistling through the trees. She carefully walked around the graves, making sure she didn't step on any of them, because that would mean bad luck for her. She spotted the black horn walking stick lying against an old oak tree and ran over to pick it up. Unfortunately, she was not looking where she was going, and she fell into a freshly dug grave.

She got up on her hands and knees and tried to climb out of the grave, but it was so deep, too deep. Suddenly, she felt something crawling up her back. A chilling voice whispered in her ear, "Little girl, I have been waiting a long time for someone to drop by. Now that you're here, you must take me into town to get something to eat. I have a terrible hunger and an awful thirst on me."

Mary's heart skipped a beat. She knew that the thing that was whispering in her ear couldn't possibly be alive. She could feel its rotting fingers stroking her hair and its fetid breath blowing against her neck. The dead thing's arms wrapped around her body and she could feel its ribcage digging into her back. She was helpless and alone. There was no doubt that the dead man would surely kill her if she didn't do his bidding.

She reached up to the grave's edge and took hold of two clumps of grass. Then she pulled with all of her might. She felt the weight of the dead man dragging on her shoulders. Somehow, she managed to lift herself out of the grave with the corpse clinging to her back. As she lay in the mucky grass trying to regain her breath, the corpse screamed in her ear, "Get up, young girl! Get up and carry me into town! I'll ride you like a horse!"

Mary slowly got to her feet, and with the dead man straddling her back, she trudged toward the village. When they came to the main road and saw a house, the dead man hissed, "'Take me into this here house so that I may feed!' Mary climbed up the steps with great difficulty. When they reached the front door, the corpse cried out, "'Not here! Not here! For I do smell the stench of holy water!'

The frightened girl walked back down the steps and went to the next house. Again, as they reached the front door, the corpse cried out, "Oh no! Away with us, for I do get the stink of holy water here as well!" Mary walked on down the road until they came to a third house. "This is a house that has no holy water," hissed the dead man. "Take me into the kitchen and I'll find myself a bit to eat." Mary walked down the darkened hallway to the kitchen.

There, she let the corpse slide off of her back and onto a chair. All that was in the cupboard was some porridge and some dirty water. "I'll teach these vagabonds and blackguards not leave me anything! Let me on your back!" Again, Mary did as the dead man commanded her to do. "Now," he said, "take me up those stairs!"

Mary was reluctant to go upstairs because she knew the family who lived in this house. She went to school with the three boys who slept upstairs. But the evil corpse dug its bony fingers into her neck and threatened to choke her to death. She slowly made her way to the top of the stairs.

There, in the pale moonlight, she could make out the figures of three young boys lying fast asleep in their beds. The corpse took out a sharp knife and slit each boy's throat. Mary turned her head and looked away. She couldn't bear to watch. The dead man collected their blood in a jug.

With the first drop of blood, their breathing stopped. With the second drop, their hearts stopped beating. With the third drop of blood, all life left their bodies. He took the jug full of blood and said, "Take me back down to the kitchen so that I may feast." Mary sadly walked down the stairs and into the kitchen.

The dead man took the bowl of porridge and poured the jug of blood over it. And when he finished eating, he took a spoonful of the bloody mess and gave it to Mary Culhane. "Eat this!" he said. "No!" she cried. "You'll do it and you'll do it now!" he said, and he wrapped his arm around her throat. She took the spoon from his grasp and brought it to her lips. The dead corpse picked up the bowl and began slurping and licking up the bloody porridge.

While he wasn't watching, Mary quickly threw her spoonful on the ground. "The corpse put down his bowl! We must hurry!" he hissed. "I must be back in my grave before the morning comes!" As they left the house, the corpse began laughing insanely. "You know there was a way that those boys could have lived!" he cackled. "You see, if they were to drink their own blood, they could come back to life. Ha! But all the blood is gone, and now there is no way!"

On and on into the night they went. The creature whispered in her ear, telling her evil stories and disgusting things that no one wants to hear and no one would ever dare repeat. The moon was going down, and the sun began to rise. They were close to the cemetery now when Mary heard a rooster crowing. "'What is that horrible noise?' screamed the dead man."

Mary knew full well it was a rooster and that morning was fast approaching. But she said, "It sounds like the bleating of a sheep, or maybe it's the moo of a cow." "Quickly!" shouted the corpse. "Get me to the cemetery, for I feel myself weakened." Mary saw the oak tree. She saw the open grave. She walked slowly towards it. Just then the sky broke open and the first beam of morning drew across the sky and into the graveyard.

The rooster crowed three times. The corpse let go of Mary's shoulders and slid down into the grave. Mary Culhane was now free of the deathly grip of the corpse. She grabbed her father's walking stick and hurried home. When she got to her house, everyone was asleep. She threw herself into bed and fell into a deep sleep.

A few hours later, her mother ran into her room and cried, "Mary! Mary, wake up! Something terrible has happened in this town! Three boys were murdered last night!" Mary stirred, and her mother could see that her hair was matted and tangled. There were dark circles beneath her eyes. Her dress was dirty, and it looked like there were bloodstains on it. Mary Culhane headed into town.

When she got to the house where the dead boys lived, she could see that the entire village was trying to console the devastated parents. She went up to the father and said, "Please, please let me inside." "No, Mary, I can't do that," he replied. "What lies upstairs in that bedroom is not fit for the eyes of a young girl to behold." "But you don't understand," insisted Mary. "I think I can save the lives of your three sons."

"Mary, if you could save my three sons from the clutches of death I would be forever grateful," he cried. "I ask nothing," said Mary, "but that you let me go in there alone." The father cleared the house and Mary entered. She walked down the darkened hallway to the kitchen. She grabbed the spoonful of blood and porridge from the floor and went upstairs. She saw the lifeless forms of the three boys lying in bed.

She gently went over and put the spoon to their lips. With the first drop of blood, the boys began to breathe, and with the second drop of blood, their hearts started to beat.

And with the third drop of blood, all life came back into their bodies. And what rejoicing there was when Mary walked outside! The three boys were alive and well! The jubilant father came over to Mary Culhane and said, "You have made me the happiest man ever to live! You gave me my boys back from the dead, safe and sound. What can I do to repay you?" "Well," said Mary, "there's only one thing I ask of you.

Always be sure to keep some holy water at your front door.

Did you like the stories I told? If so, tell your friends about Spooky Santa so that they can listen too. And remember, you can write your own scary story and email it to me at letters at spookysanta.com. If you want to learn more about the stories I've told or the authors who have written them, you can find links in this episode's show notes.

Spooky Santa is a registered trademark of Marlar House Productions. Copyright, Marlar House Productions 2019. Now, be a good little girl or boy and join me next time for more creepy tales from Spooky Santa. Ho, ho, ho, ho, ho, ho, ho.

Hey Weirdos! Our next Weirdo Watch Party is this coming Saturday, and this one is extra special as it's our Christmas Watch Party, and yours truly plays a part in it! Our hostess, Mistress Malicious and her team at Mistress Beast Theatre have recreated and re-edited the film for all of the funny stuff you'd expect from them.

And they replaced all the narration throughout with my own narration, even keeping a few of the ad-libs I tossed in. It's Santa Claus from 1959, sometimes known as Santa Claus vs. the Devil. It tells the story of the devil showing up at Christmas time, determined to ruin it all, and ruin some children in the process.

But Santa refuses to let Christmas be tainted and even teams up with Merlin the magician to help defeat the devil so Christmas can be saved.

Santa Claus, or Santa Claus vs. the Devil, hosted by Mistress Peace Theater. It's this Saturday night, 10 p.m. Eastern, 9 p.m. Central, 8 p.m. Mountain, 7 p.m. Pacific, on the Watch Party page at WeirdDarkness.com. The Weirdo Watch Party is always free to watch. Just tune in at showtime and watch the movie with me and other Weirdo family members, and often the horror hosts join in the page's chat box with us, too.

Mistress Malicious brings us Santa Claus or Santa Claus versus the Devil this Saturday night for our next weirdo watch party. I hope to see you there. Get the details on the watch party page at weirddarkness.com.